A Coherent Existence
by lostrocket
Summary: Charleston, 1878
1. Opening Doors

_That couldn't be Rhett._

But of course it could be him. She knew from Aunt Pauline's letters that he had more or less taken up a permanent residence in Charleston in the years since she had seen him last. Yet she had not allowed herself to think she might see him, had not prepared herself to see him. She still thought of him as he had been in those first months of their separation, unable to stay anywhere for very long. His visits to Atlanta had been as painful as they were brief, their only mercy. She had convinced herself that even if Charleston was nominally his home now, he could hardly be expected to be found there.

Scarlett was drawn out of her brief reverie by a light touch on her arm. The waiter had pulled out her chair and was trying to reclaim her attention. She sat heavily, too tired for grace, the strain of the day and the shock of Rhett's presence dragging her down. The waiter left her with menu in hand, and she was shocked back to alertness by the blurring of tears in the corners of her eyes. She would _not_ cry here in the restaurant of the Mills House. Scarlett skimmed the menu quickly, hoping that food might stir her appetite. It had been almost nonexistent in that first year after Rhett had left her, and though taste had come back, she had not recovered her former exuberant delight in gluttony. Tonight, she was eating only because she knew she must, because if today had been hard, tomorrow would be worse.

Aunt Eulalie's funeral would take place in the morning, followed by the burial, and she would need all her strength to get through them both. Aunt Pauline was old and useless in her own grief, Suellen too busy dealing with her boisterous offspring. The Benteen brood had entirely overrun the old, cramped house on the Battery where the sisters had lived. Scarlett was glad for the brief respite of the hotel. She tried to be glad as well, that she had only Wade and Ella to bother with, and they were both old enough now to be nearly no trouble at all. But her heart shrank from such gratitude, with an unarticulated feeling that somehow such a thought was a betrayal of her other children.

Worse than even Pauline's inutility and Sue's bitter preoccupation was the unending support of Eleanor Butler. Eleanor's and Eulalie's friendship had never wavered, and now Scarlett had had to face the woman who was still her mother-in-law, when she had not seen mother nor son - her own husband! - in years. And face her knowing that Eleanor knew she and Rhett were beyond estranged; how could she not, when he lived in his mother's house? Eleanor knew more of Rhett's whereabouts and activities than Scarlett did, a thought which prompted the brief suspicion that Eleanor would have known both that Scarlett would be returning to her hotel and that Rhett would be there as well. Scarlett thrust the paranoia aside. Eleanor's kindness, her steady support as Scarlett once again stepped in to do the work no one else could, was nearly unbearable. And she would have to face her again in the morning.

Scarlett ordered her meal by habit more than taste. She chose the ham because she knew she liked ham, but without any real interest in any of the dishes. When the waiter left her alone again, she found herself helpless to resist the pull of Rhett's presence.

There was no doubt it was her estranged husband. His table was at a slight angle to her own, so though his back was to her, the quarter turn offered an occasional glimpse of his profile. There was no mistaking him; the broad shoulders under a perfectly fitted jacket, so well-tailored, the fine fabric almost lustrous in the filmy gaslight of the dining room. His presence was as overpowering as ever, the sheer size and power of his body physically striking even from a distance.

Rhett appeared to be in animated conversation with his companion, a man Scarlett did not recognize, and why would she. Every so often one large, brown hand would raise in an emphatic gesture. Scarlett's eyes followed his hand, captivated by the evident strength that made an incongruous picture with the elegance of his movements; the blunt nails, the black hair that spread beyond the hems of his sleeves. Watching him only made her feel more hollow, her stomach so uncomfortably empty that the thought of food threatened to make her nauseous. When it arrived, she pushed it around on her plate, knowing she was behaving like a sullen child but unable to force herself to take more than a few bites.

The food did not stimulate her appetite, but the wine flowed far too easily. She was lifting her third glass to her lips when she realized Rhett was no longer seated. Swallowing hurriedly, Scarlett set her glass down and raised her eyes again in time to see her husband and the stranger walk past her table. For one all too brief moment, their eyes met - then he was gone. His steps had not even slowed as he passed her. Had his eyes widened, just a little? It had all happened so quickly - she had barely been able to look at him, and now, he was gone.

It might be years again before she saw him. She would leave Charleston before the end of the week. It was more time than he had spent in Atlanta in years - even when he had still been spending time in Atlanta. Spending time with her.

Scarlett pushed her plate back. She was done. She would go to bed, get what sleep she could to fortify herself for the long day ahead. Rhett's presence in Charleston did not affect her at all. It wouldn't change anything. She would still have to get up in the morning and bury her aunt, while carrying the grief of the family on her shoulders as well as her own. She snatched her napkin from her lap and tossed it down on the table.

"Scarlett." The voice was smooth and familiar. Scarlett's hand clutched at the edge of the table and she swallowed painfully hard. He didn't offer her a greeting, no polite sidestepping. His voice was as blank as his face had been when he had first seen her. "I shouldn't be surprised to see you; my mother told me about your aunt Eulalie. But what are you doing in the hotel? I expected you would be staying in your aunts' home."

Scarlett's tongue felt overly large and thick in her mouth. She shouldn't be staying at the hotel _or_ at the family home. She should be staying with her husband. Squaring her shoulders, she looked Rhett in the eye.

"Oh, well, the house is too busy - too much."

How strange, to step into the middle of a conversation with a husband you hadn't seen in years.

"Is the meal not to your liking?"

Scarlett glanced at the plate of food, now gone cold. The gravy was congealing unpleasantly. "No, I suppose it's not. What do you want, Rhett?"

"May I sit down?"

"If you must."

Rhett stiffened. "I see.".

He almost sounded hurt! That must be a joke her ears were playing. If the years of her marriage had taught her anything in retrospect, it was that she could not trust her own senses when it came to Rhett. Why should Rhett be hurt! She was the one who had been left - she was the one in mourning again. He had no right to be hurt.

She sighed. "I'm just tired, Rhett. It's been a long day."

How strange - and yet, how easy. Despite the lump in her throat and the squeezing pressure on her heart, it was still so easy to talk to him. It was just also painful as well.

"Of course. Well," Rhett said, shoving his hands in his pockets. Scarlett studied him with slightly narrowed eyes. Now she couldn't be mistaken, he seemed nervous or at least unsure of himself. He seemed - very much not like Rhett. "Do you need anything?" he asked abruptly.

Scarlett nearly laughed out loud. Instead, she made a fist, digging her nails into her palm. She rose, drawing herself up to appear as tall as she possibly could.

She still felt dwarfed by his presence.

"Isn't it a little late to ask?" Scarlett said, the snap in her voice faltering before the end.

Scarlett left the dining room without waiting for Rhett to answer, but she could not resist turning her head for one last look at him. If she hadn't seen him in three years, who knew when she might see him again? His physique was restored to the fitness he had maintained before their daughter's death, and though his face was a little more lined, his hair beginning to grey, he was still undeniably handsome.

If it was hard to read his expressions up close, it was even more difficult from a distance. Impossible to tell what was in his eyes, much less his heart.

In the end, she knew him no better than she ever had.

 _Just when I'd stopped_

 _Opening doors,_

 _Finally knowing_

 _The one that I wanted was yours_

\- A Little Night Music, Stephen Sondheim

* * *

 _A/N: Hello. I'm still writing! As of the last post I made in August, I bought a condo and moved and my derby season started back up and I've just been really short on time. Unpacking is going very slowly (still not done and it's been over a month), which means when I have free time at home I have to prioritize that over writing. I haven't been able to get back into my main WIP. I've been trying to squeeze in work on a couple things that I thought would be small and relatively quick to write, so I'd have something to post in the meantime, but S &R are not cooperating. I_ have _been sitting on a completed story inspired by_ A Little Night Music _. As I was lucky to see a small production of another Sondheim show,_ Company _, last Friday, I've decided to post this instead. It's short, perhaps a little abrupt, but I had an idea and they were reasonably cooperative so here we are. I should perhaps also disclose that although I am starting_ _this out in a T rating, it's going to have to drop behind the "M wall" by the third installment. ~K_


	2. A Delicate Art

Scarlett's steps were heavy and leaden when she finally returned to the hotel the next day. The new black boots pinched her toes and the demurely high collar of her dress itched unbearably. The dress was old, and Prissy had had to take it in where it had sagged at waist and bosom. She had her waist back, at least, though she was long past caring.

What a long, grueling day! Though she was saddened by the death of her aunt, sad to lose one of her last connections to her mother, the worst of it was the never-ending whining of her sister and the unfailing solicitousness of Eleanor Butler. It unnerved Scarlett. What could be her mother-in-law's motive? Given the state of her marriage - dead in all but name, and God only knew _what_ Rhett had told her - did Eleanor think her as cold and heartless as everyone else did? Was all her help and hovering just a ploy, conducted in the hopes of seeing Scarlett falter and fail? Did Mrs. Butler think she would refuse the burdens of family in need, when she had carried them for so long? It was enough to make her head ache, too.

Crossing the elegantly black-and-white tiled lobby, Scarlett stopped abruptly.

"Rhett!" she exclaimed, shocked to see him again. He had dropped a newspaper in one of the wicker chairs before coming to intercept her. She looked around his shoulder for the man he had been with the night before, or for some other reason to excuse his presence, and saw only the slowly settling newsprint. "What are you doing here?"

Rhett touched her elbow. Without thinking, she relaxed into the light touch, shifting her weight imperceptibly to lean against his fingers. The contact steadied her, providing support she had not even realized she needed. She should step away - she would - after a moment. In this small way, it was nice to feel even briefly that she could share the strain of her day. It wasn't weakness. She was just so tired.

"I thought you might want a brandy after today," he said quietly, looking down at her. He was so close she could feel his breath stirring the hair that had come loose from her coiffure, smell the faint aroma of tobacco it carried.

"If you are going to lecture me about my drinking," she said without any force, only weariness, "I'll thank you to spare us both and just leave me alone. Why are you here, anyway?"

"To see you."

Scarlett lifted her head sharply, seeking out his gaze as she cursed herself for the sudden, immediate flare of scalding hot hope in her belly. Shouldn't she, after so many years, be beyond such things? Rhett's dark eyes were impenetrable, his face a study in blank indifference. Yet there was a small line in the corner of his mouth - and, there, the subtle movement of tightly corded muscles in his neck. But what did it mean?

"Let me buy you that brandy," he added gently.

The fingertips at her elbow felt heavy and warm through the thin black crepe of her gown. Scarlett took a deep breath and held his gaze.

"Aren't you afraid of how it will look, your _wife_ drinking spirits in public?"

The suspicious crease by his mouth disappeared as his face contorted into a frown. "We need to talk."

The hot bubble of hope burst, and her gut clenched in fear. He hadn't mentioned divorce since the night he had told her he was leaving. After so many years, had her arrival in Charleston suddenly moved him to action? Oh, God, he wouldn't do this now, would he? Scarlett moistened her suddenly dry lips with the tip of her tongue before answering.

"Not here," she said, decisively. "There's a bottle in my rooms," she admitted. Rhett arched one black brow. "There's a private sitting room in my suite," she snapped, irritated. "You needn't worry I'll try to seduce you."

Rhett made a small bow with a mocking flourish of his arm. "After you, then, Mrs. Butler." Her agitated stomach turned over at his words. Would this be the end of her bleak time as Mrs. Butler? He trailed her as she started up the stairs. "But who's to say I would object?"

Scarlett stopped so abruptly that Rhett ran into her, his broad chest colliding with her stiff back. She heard his quiet chuckle right next to her ear. She felt his hands, large and warm, come to rest against her waist, just above her crumpled bustle. The touch, so unexpected after years of bitterness, shocked her back into motion. It wasn't appropriate to say such things, or to be seen like this, on the grand staircase of a very public hotel. Whatever Rhett meant by it, whatever he intended, would have to wait until they were safely in her room.

The decanter of brandy was placed boldly on a sideboard in the hotel room's small sitting area. It was a freedom she would never have taken when Mammy accompanied her, but Prissy was either too stupid to notice or too smart to remark on it. Rhett took a seat on the sofa, the largest piece of furniture in the room, while Scarlett discarded her hat and gloves. She had sent Prissy and the children back to the hotel hours before; no doubt all three were asleep by now in their own rooms. It would have been an annoyance alone, trying to disrobe and unlace herself. With Rhett, it was a relief not to face any of them. She certainly could not imagine trying to explain his presence to the children, not when she didn't understand it herself.

After dropping the ugly black bonnet on a small table, Scarlett's hand went automatically to her throat. She caught herself before she unbuttoned the high collar, remembering she wasn't alone. It would be a relief to get out of this dress, but it seemed that freedom would have to wait.

After pouring two glasses of brandy - her own not as full as it might have been, had she been alone - Scarlett crossed the room to offer one to the silent Rhett. She intended to move away, to take a seat on one of the two uncomfortable chairs, but his hand caught at her skirts.

"Sit here."

Warily, Scarlett complied. She took a nervous sip of her brandy, eager for the muffling warmth to spread through her and quiet her fears. Hoping, too, that it might provide some measure of courage, for her own stores felt exhausted.

Rhett seemed disinclined to speak. He sipped his own drink and watched her. Her already raw nerves scraped uncomfortably under her skin. Could Rhett never behave like an ordinary man?

"Really, Rhett," she said at last. "Won't you tell me why you're here?"

"Because you invited me up?" he said, his eyes dancing. Oh, he was as terrible as ever! Scarlett was almost tempted to stick her tongue out at him, a childish impulse she had thought long gone. Even Suellen couldn't provoke her to such displays anymore.

"Don't joke," she chided instead.

Rhett tossed back the rest of his brandy with a practiced gesture and grimace. He sat forward, sliding the glass across the table, then braced his arms on his thighs. Scarlett tightened her grip on her own glass, feeling the slick of sweat coating her palms. Now it would happen - she should have put up with Suellen at their aunts' house, or paid for Sue to stay in the hotel - if she had stayed out of sight, if Rhett hadn't seen her-

If Rhett hadn't seen her, then what? Another three years, another ten, of silence? No, she wouldn't think about that. But she would not let him divorce her, no matter what.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you."

"What?" Scarlett set her own glass down abruptly, suddenly afraid it would slip right out of her clammy hand.

"After I saw you last night. I knew you were in town, of course - my mother - but I hadn't expected to see you." _Clearly, you hadn't wanted to_ , Scarlett thought, unable to look at him. "But as I always feared would happen, now that I have-"

Scarlett flinched at the touch of warm skin brushing against her cheek. Rhett dragged his thumb along the soft curve of her cheek, then pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. Scarlett's heart hammered painfully in her chest.

"Look at me, Scarlett." Oh again, it was so tempting to be childish, to shake her head and pull away. But Rhett's voice and touch acted on her like a magnet, and she was powerless to resist the attraction.

There was a queer light in Rhett's dark eyes, strange and unnervingly familiar. Confusion paralyzed her, and impression and memory passed too quickly through her brain to be grasped or understood. His thumb, finely textured but not rough, smoothed across her cheek again. "I still carry the color of your eyes in my mind. It's good to see them again."

The compliment stung like an insult, breaking the spell that had kept her frozen. Good to see her again! He had stayed away for three years - he had only seen her by _accident_ , not design, because she couldn't bear to squeeze herself into the crowded house on the Battery. She opened her mouth, ready to light into him, but Rhett moved too quickly. "Oh no you don't," he said in a voice so low it was nearly a growl. The hand by her face moved swiftly to cup the back of her head. Wrapping his other arm around her waist, he hauled her against his body. Her skirts tangled around her legs, neatly trapping her. Rhett's mouth found hers, his lips slow and searing as they moved against her own. It had been years since she had been kissed like this - not since the night of Ashley's party, so very long ago.

It was too confusing. Seeing Rhett again, for the second time in two days after three years with only the most cursory correspondence between them. Being _kissed_ by Rhett for the first time in too many years to count! Could it mean anything at all?

Scarlett decided she did not want to know. This was what she had wanted, wished for, for the last four years. If this was goodbye, if it was a dream, a mistake - she could worry about that later. This was something she had lost before she even knew what she had. Even if this was goodbye, she would reach out with both hands and _take_ it, not throw it away.

 _Perpetual anticipation's a delicate art,  
_ _Playing a role,  
_ _Aching to start,  
_ _Keeping control  
_ _While falling apart._

\- A Little Night Music, Stephen Sondheim

* * *

 _I'm sorry, everything has been so busy. In the time I have I mostly use my phone and tablet for internet, and with the rating on this story I don't want to grab the updates on my work computer, but then I never take the time to boot up my personal computer. But I finally am getting around to the next part. Thank you all for the reviews! I hope I don't disappoint you. This is a SHORT story so we will roll through it pretty quickly, perhaps shallowly, but I do hope it's an enjoyable treat nonetheless._


	3. A Coherent Existence

_A/N: I upgraded the rating to M! The update happened first so the email went out still saying it's rated T, but if you've been following please note this chapter takes a bit of a ratings jump._

Once decided, her body relaxed as she let go of tension and eagerly molded herself to Rhett's hard chest. He seemed surprised by her surrender, drawing away so he could look in her eyes again. Fear that any interruption might cause him to change his mind gripped Scarlett and she followed him, pressing her lips to his. She felt awkward, undeniably out of practice and afraid that he would rebuff her when he realized how terribly inexperienced she still was. She tried not to think about that, for down that path were other thoughts, questions about what exactly Rhett had been doing all these years, for surely _he_ was not out of practice-

Thankfully, after a brief moment of stillness, Rhett's mouth responded to her artless advances. The hard hand on the back of her head softened, his long fingers cupping her skull and gently coaxing her head to a better angle. His mustache tickled her mouth like the ghost of a memory. Worry and suspicion flew from her mind, chased away by the resurgence of forgotten sensations, the feeling of drowning in warm darkness with Rhett's solid body the only anchor to the world. When she felt the brush of his tongue along the seam of her lips, she parted them eagerly, welcoming him with an involuntary sound. It embarrassed her, but Rhett was undisturbed by the noise; if anything, he was encouraged, tightening the arm behind her back and pulling her so tightly against him that she could feel the buttons of his coat pressing into her breasts.

His lips traveled across her cheek and he pressed them beneath her ear. Frantic not to let reality intrude just yet, Scarlett turned her head, seeking his mouth again, but he slid his hand from the back of her head to cup her jaw and hold her still. Scarlett clutched his shoulders, digging her fingers into the hard muscle until they hurt.

"Rhett," she whispered, trying to urge him closer, to recapture that swirling darkness that drowned out thought and doubt. But Rhett would not be moved, could not be forced to proceed at any pace other than his own, deaf to her urgency. He kissed slowly down her neck to the high black collar of her dress, the brush of his mustache making her shiver. She jumped at the rough feel of his fingers at her throat. He unbuttoned the basque down to her collarbone, low enough that he could shove the fabric aside and bare the white column of her neck to her shoulder.

An absurd giddiness bubbled in her chest. This was ridiculous, absolutely and utterly ridiculous. They had hardly even spoken to each other, yet somehow exchanged enough words to end up in this improbable embrace. She found herself giggling, unable to stop.

"Don't giggle," Rhett scolded, and the words hummed against her skin. A simple admonishment that carried her back in time, back to a night as warm as desire, when he had pressed his lips to her skin for the first time. The memory sobered her instantly. She ducked her face against his head, closing her eyes to feel the softness of his hair on her cheeks. _Rhett_. This was _Rhett_ , with his mouth on her skin and his arms around her.

Unsure of the rules of this encounter, Scarlett's hands were light and tentative as she brushed her fingertips across his forehead and along his cheeks and jaw. His skin was firm, rougher than her own, but his hair as she delved her fingers through it was much softer. His mouth was warm and insistent on her neck and throat, down to the collarbone bared by the open neck of her dress.

She gasped in shock at the feel of his open mouth on the rise of her breast. Somehow he had continued to unbutton her dress without her knowledge. Scarlett dropped one hand and felt along the buttons, learning by touch that her bodice was gaping open to her waist. She gulped, but did not protest, deciding in that instant that she would follow Rhett however far this went.

Rhett kissed the mounds of both her breasts, pushed high by her stays, nuzzling the edges of her chemise out of the way of his questing lips. His tongue pushed at the lip of the corset and he slid both his hands inside her open bodice, pushing her own inquisitive hand heedlessly out of the way. Rhett lifted his mouth and kissed her again, hard but brief, before he stood dragging her up with him. Scarlett stumbled against him before she found her balance.

"Which door," Rhett asked in a low voice, kissing her again.

"What?" Scarlett responded breathlessly, dazed.

"Which door to the bedroom," he growled into her mouth.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, and his hands tightened on her waist. "By the windows," she whispered, squeezing her eyes tightly shut.

Taking her by the hand, Rhett led her to one of the two doors off the suite's sitting room. Scarlett followed, breathing as deeply as her still-laced corset would allow, trying to settle the bubble of panic that was pushing at her chest, to quiet the hurricane of questions tearing in her brain, clinging to Rhett's hand as tightly as she tried to cling to her feelings of determination and recklessness. This meant everything to her; if it meant nothing to him, she would worry about that tomorrow.

Rhett nearly dragged her through the bedroom door. Scarlett frantically grabbed for the knob to pull it closed behind them. Wade and Ella were across the hall, and she had made it clear to Prissy that she would take care of her own evening toilette, but God help her if one of them discovered some reason to come to her rooms while Rhett was there. While she and Rhett-

The door closed behind them. After the quiet click, Rhett turned to face her again. He cupped her face between his broad palms, tilting her head back just slightly to look her in the eyes before he lowered his mouth to hers again. Scarlett slipped her arms through his to wrap them around his neck and, raising up on tiptoe, pressed herself up to his chest. They stood just inside the bedroom for several minutes, Rhett's hands moving from her face, to her hair, to her back. The soft kiss changed, gradually and in familiar fashion, escalating in intensity until Scarlett's hands were fisted in the shoulders of Rhett's jacket. She clung to his solid form while the world swirled about her senses and she swayed in his arms, dependent on his strength to keep her standing.

Rhett pulled away with a fistful of her dress in his hand. "I loathe seeing you in mourning, Scarlett." Looking up into his dark eyes, bottomless black, unchanged and unchanging, Scarlett drew strength. She took a step back and turned around as her nimble fingers made quick work of the few remaining buttons of her bodice. Scarlett slipped the black crepe from her shoulders and, in an expression of her own distaste, dropped it carelessly on the floor. Her hands were busy next with the hidden buttons and fasteners of the skirt. She felt Rhett step closer by a sensation of pressure against her bustle, and then the familiar pull and tug of her corset being unlaced. Holding the loosened garment to her chest with one hand, Scarlett stepped out of her skirt and left it. The corset, however, she unhooked and placed carefully on a chair.

Trembling, clad in just her chemise, Scarlett turned back to Rhett. Her knees sagged at the sight of him, a sudden dizzy rush of feeling threatening to buckle them entirely. While she had fumbled with her own clothing, he had removed his cravat and stripped out of his shirt, waistcoat and coat. His suspenders hung loosely around his thighs. She placed her hand gently in his outstretched palm and he pulled her towards him as he backed toward the bed, then motioned for her to sit. When she did, Rhett knelt and, running his hands down her calf, made quick work of the buttons on each shoe in turn. Scarlett was glad she had given in to her vanity that morning and opted for the low-heeled walking shoes, because it had made her feel pretty to know she was at least wearing something fashionable under her black skirts. The shoes were far easier to deal with than her tall buttoned boots.

Rising from his knees, Rhett's hands moved to his waist. Before she could second-guess herself, before shame at her own lustful motives could stop her, Scarlett kicked her shoes out of the way and slipped off the bed. Boldly meeting Rhett's smoldering gaze, she pushed his hands roughly aside and undid his trousers, though her clammy fingers struggled to grip the smooth buttons. With her eyes on his, she could see the small raw flame in their depths, a light that flickered with every movement of her hands but never went out.

It had an intoxicating effect on Scarlett, more potent than brandy. Never before had Rhett been so blatant in his desire. Except, perhaps, that one night...but for most of their married life, indeed for all the time she had known him, he had hidden his true feelings from her behind a blank wall of indifference and even scorn. Oh, why couldn't he have been like this years ago, back when it would have made a difference?

Scarlett set aside the useless questions of the past with her characteristic single-minded determination, and barreled forward with a capitalistic drive to profit from this unexpected situation. Rhett's gaze gave her the strength to continue when, having felt the hard evidence of his arousal against the back of her hand, the old Scarlett would have drawn back. If Rhett could behave like a new person this night, so could she. And so instead of moving away, Scarlett tugged the long tails of his pleated shirt free of his loosened pants and slipped her hands underneath. Rhett exhaled loudly, stirring the hair at her temples with hot, brandy-scented breath. Scarlett pressed her palms to his smooth abdomen and slid them upwards until her fingers were buried in the thick mat of hair that covered his chest.

Rhett leaned forward and kissed her, and she felt his shirt falling away as he unbuttoned it. The urgency in his kiss was contagious, and when cool air flowed over the backs of her hands she shifted them to his shoulders and roughly pushed his shirt back. He shrugged the garment away and then his bare arms came around her, their heat and strength easily sensed through the thin layer of her chemise. Scarlett dug her hands into his neck and shoulders and rose up on her tiptoes, yet it wasn't enough. She wanted, needed, to be closer to Rhett, to press herself into his skin so he could never be parted from her. She clung to him, tighter and tighter, nearly lifting herself off the ground.

He seemed to feel the force of her need, for his hands - such large, strong hands - cupped her rear and brought her up against his chest. Responding to the suggestive pressure of his hands, she wrapped her legs around Rhett's bare waist. A brief pang of shame at her actions, that might have derailed her in the past, only served to spur her on. She opened her mouth under Rhett's, wordlessly asking him to deepen the kiss, welcoming the sensual invasion of his tongue.

The sheets were cool against the backs of her thighs where the chemise had ridden up as Rhett lowered her to the hotel bed, his weight pressing her into the soft mattress. She arched her back, welcoming the sensation, surprised at how right it felt - surprised too, to realize how she had missed this. _I missed him for years, even when we were still living together_ , she thought with a wave of sadness that made her go limp beneath him. Remembering what Rhett had said out in the parlor, she turned her head and kissed him beneath his ear, whispering, "I missed you" against his skin.

She was disappointed that Rhett did not return her words, but they seemed to spur his passion to greater heights. His knee slid between her legs, the wiry hair gently scratching her bare thighs. He must have kicked aside the trousers when they fell to the bed. Scarlett moaned into his hair as Rhett moved his mouth down to her jaw, then her neck, moving ever lower as she undulated her hips against him, frantic to increase the delicious sensation of pressure between her legs. She was chasing a memory, a feeling such as she had rarely felt before - that night, that night she couldn't think of now, for it would only make her fearful of the morrow.

Rhett tugged at her chemise and she lifted her shoulders so he could pull it off over her head. Her modesty, which had ever only been a thin veneer of decorum imposed by the dominant forces of her childhood, was now falling away completely. She did not protest her nudity, did not avert her gaze from Rhett's bright black eyes. Her green eyes met his with a challenge meant only for him, for the only man who had ever been stronger than she. And she reveled in his strength, surrendering to him utterly.

Rhett took his weight on his elbows and moved fully over her, slipping his other leg between hers. He lowered his hips to hers and she could feel him, seated at the apex of her thighs. Scarlett wrapped her legs around his hips again, and lifted her own hips in silent encouragement. But Rhett had his own agenda. He hovered over her, staring, that eager flame still twisting in his black pupils - but something else, besides, something she did not recognize. He drew his thumb gently across her lower lip. With an impulse that came from some deep, instinctual place inside herself, Scarlett lifted her head and, opening her lips, bit the pad of his thumb.

Again a change seemed to come over Rhett. He made a low sound in the back of his throat, almost like a growl. The heel of his hand fit against the dip just below her shoulder and he held her there, keeping her still, while he lowered his head to her breasts. He did not try to tease her, but took first one, then the other nipple into his mouth, tracing them with his tongue before sucking with a sinful force that made her gasp and arch up to meet him.

"Rhett," she whimpered, gripping him with her thighs and rocking her hips to try to draw him in. Still he resisted her wordless demands, and finally her need humbled her to whisper, "Please. Rhett."

His thumb caressed her collarbone before he moved his hand away from her shoulder. Reaching between their bodies, she could feel him positioning himself at her entrance. Scarlett gripped his shoulders as Rhett left her breasts to bury his face in her neck as he slid inside her.

It had been so long, too long. The sensation felt as novel as her first wedding night, though intensely pleasurable instead of shockingly painful. She was grateful that Rhett seemed to know what to do, moving slowly enough that her body could adjust to the unaccustomed intrusion. Her fingers tightened with every inch until, when he was fully seated inside her, she felt sure she must be marking him with her nails. But she couldn't help it; every nerve in her body seemed to burn, burned with a fire that flowed to the same spot, until desire overwhelmed her body's initial resistance. Moved to action, Scarlett rocked her hips with a miniscule movement, hoping it would inspire Rhett to take the lead again.

For once, Rhett behaved as expected. When he felt the slight but welcoming shift of her body, he seemed to spring into action, with all the graceful power of a panther pouncing on his prey. His hips rocked against her, slowly at first, until her desire grew to match his movements. As she came alive beneath him, Rhett plunged into her faster and faster, filling her over and over again, filling a need gone unfulfilled for far too many years.

Something was knotting in her belly, some nexus of desire and pleasure drawing tighter and tighter. Scarlett threw her head back, straining for the release of that delicious knot of tension, yet it stayed just out of reach. Then Rhett moved again, with his hand on her hip, shifting them both until the angle of his movements changed. She gasped, and felt his mouth move on her neck as if he smiled. There, she thought, "There!" she cried, unaware she had given vent to the exclamation out loud.

Rhett grunted in her ear, indistinct words in an encouraging and demanding tone, and her hips jerked reflexively until the knot finally unraveled. Shimmering, electric pleasure streaked through her from the place where they were joined so intimately, shooting sparks of release along all her nerves. She stiffened in his arms, her hips rigid against his even as his movements reached a feverish peak before he groaned into her shoulder and held himself still inside her.

Rhett's upper arm shook where he had braced himself on one elbow. His breath was damp against her own sweaty skin, coming in uneven exhalations over her neck. As the waves of release ebbed, once again, fear came creeping at the edges of Scarlett's thoughts. Her hands, which had loosened on Rhett's shoulders, clutched him again, hoping against history that he would not leave her yet.

After several minutes, Rhett shifted to her side and dropped onto his back. Scarlett lay where she was, beside him, their shoulders and hands just brushing. When Rhett did not speak or make any move to draw her close, she began to sit up. She would find her nightgown, and a wrapper; and at least be fully clothed for whatever came next.

But Rhett stopped her with a loose hand around her wrist. Still without a word, he drew her arm across his abdomen, tugging until she lay back down. He pressed her head to his chest and she relaxed gratefully against him. His hands moved gently through her hair, tugging out the pins that hadn't already come free, until he could run his fingers from scalp to end. She sighed, relaxing as his hands played with her hair. This was familiar, wonderfully so. It called to mind their honeymoon, those unspoiled days in New Orleans. She had failed to appreciate it at the time, but now - after Bonnie, after Ashley - Rhett's embrace meant everything. With her own fingers stroking his chest hair with a faltering rhythm that fell off as sleep won over, Scarlett let the peace of the moment claim her.

 _When we met again, and we made love, I thought: Maybe here it is at last - a chance to turn back, to find some sort of coherent existence after so many years of muddle._ \- A Little Night Music, Stephen Sondheim


	4. The Woman Who Could Rescue Me

Scarlett had never been one to wake instantly, or cheerfully. Her sleep-muddled brain cleared slowly in the mornings. And New Orleans was so warm, indolently drowsy, and she was wrapped in Rhett's embrace and she had never wanted to be anywhere else. Something about those feelings wasn't quite right, but what was it? She remembered thinking about New Orleans as she fell asleep - thinking about it, because she wasn't there. This wasn't her honeymoon - Aunt Eulalie -

Her eyes flew open. Charleston, Aunt Eulalie's death, and Rhett. Not New Orleans, not their honeymoon, but Rhett's embrace all the same. Oh, Lord! What had they done?

To make her complicated situation even stickier, there was a knock at the door.

"Miss Scarlett?" called Prissy's high voice.

"Oh, God," she whispered out loud.

"Miss Scarlett, your breakfast's here. Miss Scarlett?"

"Yes!" she fairly yelped, then cleared her throat and continued more calmly. "Thank you, Prissy. Just leave it in the parlor - I'll come eat when I'm ready."

At least Prissy did not feel familiar enough with her mistress to come into the room and bully her out of bed, as Mammy would have done. Instead, the younger woman mumbled something unintelligible - probably a sullen, "Yes, ma'am" - and left her well alone, so that Scarlett could face her next dilemma.

Rhett. He slept still, more soundly than she had ever known him to sleep. He had stirred when she called out to the servant, flinging one arm wide and turning his head toward her. The golden glow of the morning sun limned him like a god. His profile was clear again, the cheeks hard and angular. He still looked tired, though - there were faint dark circles in the too-hollow spaces under his eyes. He looked healthy, but not well-rested. Touching his cheekbone with one fingertip, she wondered if they were new - if he had not slept well after seeing her. Or were they habitual, the marks of a man too busy to keep decent hours. _Or too debauched,_ a serpentine whisper hissed in her brain. Was there another Belle here in Charleston?

Many things she had forcefully pushed out of her mind the night before were now all trying to crowd back in. What had he been doing for three years - who had he been seeing? Why did he come back to the hotel to see her? Why did he come upstairs (oh, why had she _invited_ him!), and why - what did it mean? What would come next? She could stand anything from him - his jeers, his mockery, his disinterest, his anger - but not a divorce. If he asked that of her - if this had only been goodbye-

So far had she gone down the unhappy road of her own thoughts, Scarlett did not realize at first that Rhett's eyes had opened, and he had spent several minutes watching the tumultuous cycle of emotions writ clearly across her face. Scarlett jumped when his hand reached up to cover hers and press it down against his cheek.

"Good morning," Rhett murmured, turning his head to kiss the inside of her wrist. His mustache was feather-light against the delicate skin.

"Good morning," Scarlett echoed stiltedly, and reclaimed her hand.

"Was that Prissy I heard?"

"Yes."

"You know we are married, my dear. It's not scandalous to share a room with your own husband."

Though he said it lightly, his remark cut her with a double edge, slicing into the still-raw pain of her uncertainty about his actions, and through the much older, calcified wound of the years they had spent in separate bedrooms - at her misguided request. Scarlett glared at him.

"Be serious," she snapped. Without bothering to cover herself, she stood up from the bed and walked the short distance to the settee where Prissy had lain out her nightgown the night before. Who cared if he saw? But she hoped he cared, if his mind wasn't set - if it wasn't too late. She pulled the voluminous white gown over her head and used both hands to drag her heavy black hair up from underneath it. Crossing her arms over her breasts, she turned back to face Rhett, lifting her chin defiantly, daring him to say something about her wanton display in such contrast to the prudery of her behavior when they had lived together.

Rhett had sat up against the headboard and, thankfully, behaved more modestly than she had, drawing the sheet up and draping it across his lower abdomen. Scarlett carefully kept her eyes locked on his, determined not to stare at him, though there was so much more to see in the daylight. Despite her focus, she could see enough in her peripheral vision - the ridge of his old scar, the mat of black hair - she knew just how those crisp curls felt under her fingertips, fresh in her mind - and strikingly, the firmness of his abdomen, thicker than it had been when they had married, but no longer ruined with drink and dissipation. If Rhett noticed the flicker in her green glare, he at least did not remark on it.

"If you'll come back to bed," Rhett said quietly, "I will be very serious."

"No," Scarlett responded stoutly, sure that it was only a ploy to - to do _that_ again, some sort of trick to distract her.

"I promise, Scarlett." Rhett's voice was somber, almost stern. "Please, come sit with me?"

Scarlett hovered in the middle of the room, torn between the desire to be close to him, and an irrational fear of doing anything at all. Any move she made would advance this discussion, and she was still terrified of its outcome.

"I won't leave until we resolve this, and you can't leave as long as I'm in here. You might tell Prissy not to come in your room, and not care too much about what she thinks of that, but how will you explain the presence of a naked man in your bedroom to the hotel maids? You don't think they might talk to your maid about such an unexpected event? That is, if they keep their heads long enough to talk to Prissy. They may just start screaming."

"Always the gentleman, aren't you," Scarlett retorted, though she did return to the bed and perch primly on the side of the mattress.

"As much as you are a lady," Rhett winked. Scarlett huffed, but the irritation didn't stick. He was grinning at her openly, his eyes warm, with none of the mockery or coldness that had turned these teasing exchanges so bitter in the past.

With a sigh, Scarlett scooted onto the bed and rested her back against the headboard next to Rhett.

"You're still a varmint, Rhett Butler."

"And you like me because I am a varmint."

Scarlett turned her head away, unwilling to agree with him and confirm even a small amount of the power he held over her now. She did not just like him; she loved him, utterly and completely, and her whole heart was in his hands this morning.

"Rhett, I don't think you ever really told me why you were here last night."

"I told you I wanted to see you, to buy you a brandy, and to talk to you."

"But that doesn't explain it - not really. You could have seen me anytime in Atlanta - you could have wired me to come to Charleston on my own. You know I would have. You knew I was in town, but it was only by chance that you saw me at all."

Rhett opened his hands, palms up, the backs resting against his thighs. "I don't know how to make you understand, Scarlett."

Instantly, the fear she had been battling all morning surged to the forefront.

"Do you want a divorce? Was this just some despicable way of saying goodbye? Because I won't -"

"No."

Scarlett swallowed and tried to will her heart to slow its frantic beat.

"Perhaps this was hello," Rhett continued cryptically.

"What?"

"A new beginning, not an end. And one that is long overdue. I know it. I've been missing you for some time now. I didn't quite realize it at first. That first year, after I tried to leave but you refused to offer a divorce, I almost hated you. That is, when I felt anything at all. When you agreed to relinquish some hold on me, and I no longer had to return to Atlanta to - as I thought - appease your vanity, I was still so numb I didn't even feel freed by the release. I was so utterly convinced in the rightness of my own actions that I ignored all evidence to the contrary, until one day - more than a year ago now - I ran into a young woman on the street. I don't know who she was, I didn't care to find out. I only got a glimpse of her - at first, just her back. In a green dress, with black hair tucked under the most absurdly embellished little hat. And suddenly, I wanted more than anything else for it to be you. For you to be here in Charleston, shopping with me, in a ridiculous hat with too many ribbons on your dress. But she turned around and the spell was broken."

 _Missing her! How - how dare he!_ went the first thoughts through Scarlett's whirling brain. A man who misses you doesn't ignore you for even one year, nevermind three!

"I did not know how to reach out to you, by then. More than a year had gone by since we last saw each other, and not on the best of terms, even for us. It was facile to just go on, day by day, but every day I put off doing something made it even harder to begin. What would you have done with a telegram out of the blue, or a letter? I feared you would burn either one, and my own cowardice would prevent me from trying again. I could have just shown up on your doorstep in Atlanta, but the complexity of that approach made it easy to avoid. I loved you long enough once before, without you knowing. I'm afraid I might have gone on loving you, letting history repeat itself. But you, as always, have a way of muddling things up."

"Muddling!" she spluttered, over the moon with rage and hope and rendered nearly dumb by the battle they were waging over her heart.

"A delightful muddle, to be sure. Yes, I knew you were in town. And I hoped I would run into you - having had a little too much whisky the day your train arrived, I even wondered if we might recreate that encounter. I would run into you on the street - and this time, it really would be you. Perhaps that had been just the dress rehearsal, and now you were here for the final performance."

Oh, could he ever just talk simple sense!

"But I was still too paralysed to come forward. I thought it would be more respectful to you in your grief, or so I told myself. My mother has spoken of nothing but you for these last few days, you know. Although she won't be so unladylike to tell me directly, I know she is beyond disappointed at our separation. She has been singing your praises since you arrived."

Scarlett touched cold fingers to her own flushed cheek. She had been so mistrustful of Eleanor Butler - was her mother-in-law on _her_ side?

"I knew you were in this hotel," Rhett went on, though he spoke more quietly now. "I arranged to meet my business partner here. And I told myself, that if I saw you I would act, though it may already have been too late."

"What if you hadn't seen me?" Scarlett asked in a whisper.

"I think I would have been on your doorstep in Atlanta soon enough," Rhett confessed. "I never could stay away from you. All through the war - and after, when you were married to Frank - I could never forget you. I always had to come back. It took me quite a bit longer this time, but I don't think I could have stayed away much longer."

Scarlett sagged against the headboard, her hand now cupping her cheek, the other limp in her lap. It was so much to take in, all of it; too much.

"You let me be miserable for years, because it was easier for you?"

She was shocked when Rhett slid abruptly off the bed. Kneeling on the ground, he stretched his hand across the tumbled sheets to claim hers.

"I was a fool."

Scarlett stared down at their loosely clasped hands.

"And now what?"

"I'm sorry. Can you forgive me?"

With her free hand, Scarlett dashed away the tears that were clouding her vision.

"You mean, show you the same consideration you gave me that day?" she asked, giving voice to the sharp ends of her bitterness. Letting it go.

Rhett hung his head, dropping his forehead against the mattress.

"I understand," he said evenly, letting go of her hand. "If you don't want Prissy to see me, you had better concoct an errand to send her away. I will leave as soon as I'm dressed."

Letting the tears fall, Scarlett drew up on her knees and reached for her husband with both hands.

"No, Rhett, no. I do forgive you. I do. Only -" she sniffled, "do you forgive me, too? Everything you said that day - oh, God, I remember it all, and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry my darling-"

She did not get to finish. Rhett had pounced back on the bed, braced on one hand while his other arm went firmly around her waist. His kiss swallowed the last of her forgiveness, cut off the rest of her plea, as he bore her back down against the bedding. She swept her arms around his neck, and when his mustache tickled her skin, she laughed.

Some time later, she was cradled with her back against Rhett's chest, one of his strong arms draped over her side. She cupped his hand in both of hers, measuring her fingers against his, examining the tough, swarthy skin and comparing it to her own. As the glow of satiation faded, worry that they had not truly resolved everything gnawed at her again.

"This will never work. We've been apart so long," she said, with a quaver in her voice that betrayed the statement as a confession of fear, not a certainty.

"Maybe that's why it _will_ work," Rhett answered, turning his hand to thread his fingers through hers. "We don't know each other anymore. I have to get to know you again, you have to get to know me -"

"For the first time?"

Rhett's face was buried in her hair such that she could actually feel his smile in the way his muscles shifted. "Perhaps. But you know - _knew_ \- me better than you think. If I wasn't always trying to throw you off the scent, so to speak, you would have realized just how well you knew me." He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "And this time, I will let you see it."

Scarlett rolled over so that she could see his eyes, and cupped his cheek in her palm for a moment before letting her hand drop. "But, Rhett, what if it doesn't work out? You said -"

"Does it matter what I said? No, really, Scarlett, does it matter to you what I said so many years ago? Shouldn't it matter more what I'm saying now?" Talk like this still confused her. Was there a right answer? What did Rhett expect?

"But-"

Rhett made an impatient gesture. "But if it doesn't, well, we both survived that once before, didn't we? I love you, Scarlett."

Scarlett shifted uncomfortably. Yes, she had - but perhaps just barely. There were so many dark months, emotionally and literally, absent of memories that she had wiped away with drink. The few stilted visits, before he had given up on his promise. But she had never given up on hers, never granted him a divorce. If this didn't work, would she have the courage to take that step now? Could she live through that without losing herself in a bottle again?

Perhaps not, but however she may have changed over the years, Scarlett Butler had not become a coward. She would not turn Rhett out of her life again just because she was afraid.

Emerging again from her introspective thoughts, Scarlett saw the shadows beginning to dim the flame in Rhett's dark eyes. But, she realized, she knew why. "I love you too, Rhett," she said, holding his gaze as she did so. The shadows departed. Rhett lowered his head to kiss her again, and just before his lips touched hers, Scarlett blurted:

"But where will we live!?"

 _When my eyes are open and I look at you, I see a woman that I have loved for a long time, who entranced me all over again when I came to her rooms...who gives me such genuine pleasure that, in spite of myself, I came here for the sheer delight of being with her again. The woman who could rescue me? Of course._ \- A Little Night Music, Stephen Sondheim

* * *

 _A/N: Y'all I'm real sorry this took so long. This little piece was never strong enough to stand up to such a sparse update schedule. Life's been coming at me fast since I moved in September. I'm hoping I'm a little more centered now and things are under control. I won't have to spend as much time making my new house a livable home and can get back into writing - and I have, though it's still slow going. I don't have anything in the hopper that's ready to go or near it, but I haven't given up on writing._

 _This was rather rushing little story, but this satisfied me at the time. There's so much to untangle with these two and it's delicious to disappear into a long story that tries to unravel those threads and reconnect them, but I think it's fine sometimes to just want something lighter, something that skims the surface a bit more - and as such, probably asks more suspension of disbelief, thank you for attempting it! A little story snack, instead of a five-course meal. Thank you for all the reviews, I hope you did enjoy this as well._

 _I do like to post smut on Valentine's Day. I'm working on uploading a new story to AO3 as I'm uncomfortable hosting it here, but it keeps stalling out on preview. If you want to check for it, my name there is the same as here._


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